A Sellsword's Wrath (The Seven Virtues #2)

by Jacob Peppers

He and a childhood friend had been playing at a game of chase, his father away visiting another part of the kingdom. He’d made his way through the castle, looking for a place to hide from his friend—a boy whose name he no longer remembered. He was running, his eyes searching frantically for some likely nook or cranny, when he came upon the formal dining room, a room his mother had told him was no place for children, forbidding him to go into it when not accompanied by an adult. Of course, he had gone in, as children will when given such orders. His friend had found him there, and in his haste to get away, he’d knocked over an ornate porcelain vase, breaking it. Later, his mother had led him back to the room, made him study the broken pieces. “Irreplaceable,” she’d said, her voice not scolding, only tired and resigned and all the worse for that, “A beauty from a kingdom that no longer exists, now broken and shattered.” She’d turned to him then, and he thought it had been something like hate in her eyes when she spoke, “Why, Belgarin, must you always break things? Why must you always destroy?” That had been all. No whippings or beatings—not for the firstborn prince. Not even any scolding, no more than that, at least. Only those words, said in a weary, tired tone, those eyes studying him. Only the words. But they’d stayed with him, always. Why, Belgarin, must you always break things? After that, he rarely played games with the other children. Instead, he’d put his effort and ...